Maple Urns

[image error]This is my favorite article ever. Sadly, Leadership Journal turned it down. I hope you will read it and pass it on.

How Real Men Walk

I was shocked. Steve couldn't die. The guy was the picture of health - young, with two teenage boys at home. Shoot, the guy was a geologist who practically lived outside. How could he be dying?

But the doctor with a bunch of initials after her name wasn't pulling any punches. Friday Steve came home early from work with a bad headache. Sunday he had a seizure. Monday he went into the hospital for tests. Thursday we heard the results. Three inoperable tumors at the brain stem. They gave him eight to nine months. I had no idea what to say, how to pray. Sermons you plan for. Friends dying blindside you.

 

A Common Connection

A few years ago, Steve and his wife joined a small group of us for an 8-week Bible study. We met at our house over chocolate-chip cookies, coffee, and Bibles. During this time I learned that Steve and I had more in common than Cottonwood Church.

Steve was fun. He had a first-year 1985 Toyota MR2 sitting in his garage. We talked about getting it running – I was a mechanic before putting down my torque wrench for a pen. He and his wife Janet had dated in that car. The brown trim matched her eyes and they just couldn't sell it. But Steve was frugal and didn't fix it either.

Steve grew up a pastor's kid. His parents went to Moody Bible Institute, and his dad went on to pastor General Association of Regular Baptist Churches (GARBC). This made for a rigid upbringing. In his home there was no going to movies, playing cards, listening to rock-and-roll, drinking, smoking, or fashionable clothes. "Come out from among them and be separate," meant "if they are having fun, you need to be separate." Like all pastors, his dad went through some grief in church, and like most preachers' kids Steve grew a bit cynical about church life.

My parents met at Moody. After the war my dad was a church planter, bringing all his churches into the GARBC. We snuck out to see movies, hid our cards and cassettes, drank ice tea, saved our Halloween candy cigarettes, and looked like dorks. Steve never could figure out why I became a pastor. "God was manipulative," was my standard, and honest answer. We became good friends. And he died.

 

An Uncommon Prayer

At the hospital I told Steve I didn't know how to pray for him. I was sitting there, dumbfounded, with my brain stuck in some sort of curser freeze. I could and would pray for healing. But honestly, I had my doubts. "The problem with miracles," a friend told me, "is that they are so unpredictable." Too true. So, not knowing what to pray, I asked Steve, "How can I pray for you?"

I was shocked by the readiness of his answer. "Just pray I will walk the walk God has for me." Steve never asked for healing. He didn't mind us praying for it, but he seemed to know that wasn't the path God had for him. Like most of us, Steve didn't fear death. He feared dying. He was afraid of the difficulties cancer and its treatment can require. His greatest desire was that he would "walk the walk." He wanted to leave a strong legacy for his boys. He left one for me too.

 

Crying Driving

We recruited a few guys to help bring Steve to his radiation appointments in the following months. My day was Tuesday. I struggled with how to talk about the future, about his boys and wife, about the process of leaving. Knowing I'm better at fixing cars than diving into awkward conversations, Steve helped me out. On the first drive he went through the list of songs he wanted at his funeral. The next week was downright bizarre. Janet was driving; I was sitting in the back seat.

"Hey Dan, know what I found on eBay?"

"No idea."

"Urns. The coolest urns ever. I found a guy in Washington State that makes them out of Maple. Beautiful. They are half the price of what a funeral home charges, and you can specify how you want them made. I think I'll order two, so Janet will have one too."

Janet was balling and Steve was just rattling away. The next week Janet took Steve to radiation alone. I fixed the MR2.

Steve had a favorite passage during this time, one that was new to me. Isa 57:1 (NIV) The righteous perish, and no one ponders it in his heart; devout men are taken away, and no one understands that the righteous are taken away to be spared from evil. 2 Those who walk uprightly enter into peace; they find rest as they lie in death. So far, he was walking uprightly. This was his prayer.

Steve Preaches

Steve was diagnosed in September. In January we started a sermon series on the life of Christ. In March I had a friend in church, Clay, speaking for me on Jesus the Healer. I thought Clay, as a hospital administrator, was well equipped to tackle this topic. He was equipped more ways than I expected. Clay called me up with an idea.

"Hey Dan, I've got a proposal for my Jesus the Healer sermon coming up next month. I wanted to run it by you."

"Sure, what is it?"

"Well, I'd like to interview two people for the sermon. First, I'd like to interview someone, who through answers to prayer, was healed. Second, I'd like to know what you think about me interviewing Steve. We don't know what will happen, but I'd like to get his take on what has happened since September, and what he thinks about his life going forward, and how he might deal with not being healed."

I never would have had the guts to interview Steve about this. But Clay did. They recorded the interviews and showed parts of each, during different parts of the sermon. Steve quoted Isa 57:1-2, and stated that his goal was to "walk the walk God had for him, be it healing or death." (my paraphrase). Steve died in May.

The Last Song

The night before the morning Steve died, I was in his room, again not knowing what to say. After praying with him I went into the bathroom where there was a post-it-note stuck on the mirror. In Janet's writing it said "I give all to God for Steve's best path."

Four days later we had Steve's memorial service. Thanks to Clay's interview, we were able to play a video recording of Steve telling us what was most important to him in his dying days. He talked about being proud of his boys, and of Janet. He talked about being proud of following God in finances – that Janet had a house and cars paid off with financial security. He said, "That's what men do." I felt guilty.

His boys were able to hear their dad say what was most important in life was to "walk the walk God has for you." And that "Those who walk uprightly enter into peace." We didn't have to carve RIP on his stone. He was already there.

On that last night, before reading the note in the mirror, we decided to put some of his favorite songs on his ipod, to play in the room with him. For some reason when I grabbed the player, I was curious to hear what the last song was he had been listening to.

I heard Van Morrison, in the middle of a song, singing, "…Standing in the sunlight laughing, Hiding behind a rainbow's wall, Slipping and sliding, All along the water fall, with you, My brown eyed girl, You my brown eyed girl. Do you remember when we used to sing, Sha la la la la la la la la la la te da…"

I turned around and there was Janet with her big watery brown eyes.

 

The Walk

Sermons you plan for. Dying can blindside you. When the diagnosis came we were all shocked, but Steve wasn't blindsided.

Steve was a bit cynical about church life, but never about Christ. He had been walking the walk throughout his life. His family was provided for. His boys loved Jesus and wanted to follow their dad in his faith. The house was paid off. His wife was walked with him through the hardest walk in his life. They demanded nothing from God but instead surrendered totally to Him.

I realized if I am to "walk the walk," I have a lot of catching up to do. Steve set the bar high. But then, that's how real men walk.

All I want to do now is to "walk the walk," so I too can rest in peace.

danielcooley.com